


i met the wolf alone and was devoured in peace

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Jonerys centric, S8 doesnt exist, and also fuck d&d for life, daenerys has a lot on her mind, fluff? yea definitely fluff, this is really just a love letter from me to dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 06:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It is only them, all exhausted hearts and loose limbs, and a young silver moon.(Who’d been witness to what happens when two cracked souls enter a new world built by and created for them - while on a journey to the end of another).





	i met the wolf alone and was devoured in peace

"She talks with wolves, without knowing what sort of beasts they are  
Where have you been all my life? they ask.  
Where have I been all my life? she replies." 

**-** **Margaret Atwood**

***

“I’d seen you in my dreams before,” She whispers into the skin of his shoulder, her eyelashes flutter across his skin and his skin responds with raised gooseflesh.

 _Was it the words or the mouth_? she wonders, smiling to herself.

She’d broke the silence after they’d been lying quietly in her quarters for what seemed like forever. The only sound being angry waves and faint breaths after they’d spent the entire course of the night claiming and mapping and marking one another.

_A bite mark there, yes, mine. A nail pattern there too, for good measure._

Earlier, somewhere in between trembling fingers and discarded clothes, she briefly thought to herself how there was something deeply poetic about getting to really know each other this way. Naked as their first name day, stripped bare, nothing in between.

Here, in this cabin, under a full sky, they do not hide.

It is only them, all exhausted hearts and loose limbs, and a young silver moon.

(Who’d been witness to what happens when two cracked souls enter a new world built by and created for them - while on a journey to the end of another).

She can’t see his full face from behind, but she sees his eyes open a bit larger at her words, his own curiosity betraying his body’s desperate plea for sleep. One of her arms wraps around his torso and her hand slowly makes it’s way up to his chest to begin memorizing the skin there. Her fingers dance lazily at the skin by his scar, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat, so undeniably alive under beneath her hand.

She desperately wishes she could crawl inside.

It’s a peculiar thought. A thought that should most definitely jolt her, wanting to burrow herself under this man’s skin. Maybe into his heart, if he’d let her. Nevertheless, she accepts it.

_Can I peel into you, Jon snow? Can I make a home out of you, Jon snow?_

 

_***_

“Hmm?” He mummers, his voice laced with husk and sleep as he turns to face her. “And what were these dreams about, My Queen?” He says with a ghost of a smile, wrapping one arm tightly around her bare waist, while the hand that was kissed by flames reaches to twirl in her loose hair.

“Mmm, I did—” she suddenly pauses, eyes glancing down at the very small space in between them, wetting her bottom lip in contemplation. She’s hit with the realization that she impulsively shared that aloud, not quite meaning to do so. She's feeling apprehensive to even share such things, things that are held closely and quietly to her.

 _Why am I telling this man I dreamt of him like some lovestruck maiden?_ She chides herself.

Even seemingly frivolous things like her dreams, she keeps tucked away in a safe place, in the recesses and dark rusted corners of her mind. Sharing parts of her so freely would make her vulnerable, too open, too accessible. Especially given to a man like the one in front of her, a quiet wolf he is — all snapping fangs and unafraid eyes. A man who could easily break her heart, a man she might let do so.

Perhaps he is the hunter, perhaps she is the prey.

Perhaps.

 _If I looked into those unafraid eyes right now, you’d see too much of me_ , she won’t say. So she keeps her head down, afraid of what she might say if she looked up, afraid of what he’d see. She doesn’t have time for this.

(But she will make some, regardless.) 

_Will you still want me when you see how I burn and bite?_

_I was born into a storm, will you still love me when you see mine?_

_***_

She isn’t sure if she should give him any more of her or her heart than she already has. Soon enough he would be cupping it in his hands, all hers, all dark, all bloody. With such carelessness it can be used, taken, thrown, and under the worst of circumstances, forgotten. She would rather have it tossed into the wild sea than to lay in apathetic hands, crumbled into ashes, into complete nothingness — similar to a dynasty the world once knew.

She has seen and endured far too much to give it up so recklessly, and she doesn’t know what she would do if he ever decided to give it back. He could be the beginning and the end.

_If I give you it Jon Snow, my quiet wolf, do you swear to keep it?_

A deep wrinkle lands in between his brows as he sees her in such concentrated contemplation. He holds her tighter to his chest, takes her tiny hand and makes sure each finger gets their own tender kiss.

A reminder of some sort. A silent promise of some sort.

And with that she thinks yes.

She will give it to him and if she ever comes to regret doing so, she will never regret that it was him. She will never regret him.

“In my dreams, I was frequently visited by a man that was very hard for me to see, I could only tell he was comely and seemed to be of my age. He was hardly naught but a shifting shadow, but the bizarre thing was that every time I woke from these dreams, I’d had the strongest urge to be in the snow, to see it for myself. I hadn’t even seen it until I traveled beyond the wall, yet I would wake and practically feel it my palms, in between my fingers. I could hear the harsh winter winds,” she pauses, taking a delicate palm to his chest, “I could hear wolves howling from a distance. Maybe I was delirious, but at the time I could’ve sworn they were seeking me, calling for me,”

From under her palm she can feel the rise and fall of his chest still, his heartbeat picking up speed. After a moment that seemed to stretch uncomfortably long, he lets out a shaky exhale. _Good_ , she thinks. She won’t have to spell it out for him.

A pair of cloudy lavender eyes look into a pair of deep dark ones, speaking for him the way they usually do. They say he understands, they say she needn’t explain further. They say somehow, the universe conspired. 

She smiles a smile made for his eyes only then, and he smiles a smile that reaches his eyes, reaches beneath her skin and bones and heart.

 

***

“I often fantasized about flying Drogon across the narrow sea and settling upon a vast land covered in nothing but white. I wanted to lie in the snow, feel it on my skin. I wanted to find the wolves, hear them howl. For some time, that fantasy was my escape. A place I could find some semblance of peace, a stillness that I’ve never known. When I was a little girl, I did the same thing. Although it was somewhere else, in a different life, in Braavos.”

He’s looking at her then like he’s aware that Dany is speaking these words. Not Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, or any other of her many titles. No one but Dany.

A young woman taken from the comfort found in naivety much too quickly, a young woman who was once a young girl, with flowers in her tangled hair and dirty careless feet that walked towards a red door surrounded by lemon trees.

She entertains the idea of them meeting when she was still that girl. She thinks how differently things could’ve been, should’ve been. Had they met before they met reality. Had they met before they were saving a world that had been so eager to push them out of it once upon a time.

He moves in a bit closer, she can feel his breath on her lips. “One day, after this is all over, I would like to take you there Dany,” with sudden determination he adds, “I promise to take you there.”

She doesn’t know which place he is talking about or how he is so sure of it but it none of it matters.

He would take her there. A promise.

She was beginning to reply, but she’s interrupted when he kisses her with an almost alarming amount of urgency. It isn’t a soft thing — teeth clattering teeth, rough hands grabbing silky hair, heavy breaths in between the few seconds they break apart so she can straddle him.

It is feral and relentless and so undoubtedly them.

And it makes sense, for the two beings sharing a bed are not soft things, they are a dragon and a wolf, hardened and wounded, picking up the pieces, mending each other the only way they know how— only the young silver moon to witness.

So they kiss and scrape and bend and break, begin to heal until they find the softness that was lost somewhere on the way.

They make silent promises to each other that night in the dark, and Dany thinks yes again.

Yes, I’ve given it to you. Yes, it will always be yours.

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiya this my first ever fic so go easy on me! im nervous asf tbh  
> it's more me just trynna crawl inside dany's brain (something d&d can't relate to)  
> all mistakes my own - this was a quick write so theres probably a lot of punctuation errors and what not, i've never written dialogue and idk the proper format for fics blah blah sorry about that 
> 
> title taken from - Edna St. Vincent Millay, from The Collected Poems of E. M; “True Encounter,”


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